


THE MENDING OF BROKEN DREAMS

by Anne_Fairchild



Category: Vienna Blood (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Support, Emotional Trauma, Families of Choice, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Serious Injuries, Violence Described, anti-Semitism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-19 07:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22441033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anne_Fairchild/pseuds/Anne_Fairchild
Summary: Max is caught up in anti-Semitic violence and seriously injured. His survival and recovery depends on the love and care of his family, and Oskar.
Relationships: Max Liebermann/Oskar Rheinhardt
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	THE MENDING OF BROKEN DREAMS

**Author's Note:**

> Not strictly necessary to have read Meyn Man first, but that does set up Max & Oskar’s relationship, including Oskar’s beginning relationship with the Liebermanns. Max is so lovely to abuse, and to comfort. Happy sigh.

It had begun to occur to Oskar Rheinhardt that Doctor Max Liebermann, his unofficial partner with the Vienna police and also in their private life, was over an hour late for lunch. It wasn’t like Max to be that late, and he could only wonder why. It didn’t occur to him there might be anything wrong. He went on working at his desk until he was called to the telephone.

“Oskar.” His heart sank. It was Max’s father.

“What is it? Is anything wrong?”

“Yes.” Mendel Liebermann’s voice sounded strained. “I think you should come to the house.”

The blood in Oskar’s veins turned to ice.

“What is it? Max is not - “

“No. Not..not…”

Oskar had the horrible feeling he was trying not to say “not yet.”

“As soon as I can get there,” Oskar responded, hanging up. He left word with Haussman that he was going out on personal business and would be in touch with the station later. He wondered what in God’s name could have upset Herr Liebermann so much and was afraid to think about it. Obviously, something bad had happened to Max.

It was close to an hour later when he knocked on the Liebermanns’ door. Another carriage waited in the street in front of the house.

The maid, her face pale and her eyes red, admitted him. Max’s sister Leah came down the stairs looking grim. It was plain that she had also been crying. She indicated they should go into the library, and closed the door.

“My father apologizes for not speaking to you now, but he will not leave Max. When the doctor is finished, he and my father will come down and explain what is known. The maid will bring you coffee. I’m sorry, but I must go back in case I might be of help.”

As Leah turned to leave, an unearthly wail was heard above them, high-pitched and terrible. Screams of pain. Not just one but several, each louder than the last, continuing far too long.

Sweet Christ, it was Max making the stomach-turning sounds.

As the noises lessened and finally stopped, Leah looked at him with tears in her eyes. “Have the coffee. You’ll need it.”

She left him alone to deal with what he knew, which was nothing, and those terrible sounds of pain torn from Max; his Max. He didn’t want to imagine, yet he could do nothing but. It seemed an age that he paced the floor, anxious at every sound outside.

Oskar wasn’t sure how much later, he heard voices and the door opened suddenly, admitting Mendel Liebermann and another man, who carried a doctor’s bag. Max’s father looked gray, and he appeared very shaken. He introduced the other man to Oskar as Doctor Samuelson, an old friend of the family from England and Max’s earliest mentor on his journey to become a doctor.

“Herr Liebermann please - is Max all right? What in God’s name has happened to him?” Oskar begged.

“The street demonstrations. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Oskar closed his eyes in pained realization. For a week now, both anti-Jewish and anti-foreign demonstrations and violence had been occurring on the streets of Vienna and the police had done little to stop it. He knew very well why, and it had sickened him. He and Max had barely discussed it, and certainly not with any thought of danger to Max, or to himself either, though both of them had cautioned the family about going out, especially Mendel to his business. He knew, too, that if threatened Max would have his back up and not be discreet or meek. Max’s often foolhardy bravery was a bone of contention between them.

“Dear God. Is it very bad?” Oskar asked.

“Very bad indeed, Inspector.” Doctor Samuelson looked grave, and Max’s father wrung his hands uselessly.

“Then - forgive me - why was he brought here and not to the hospital?” Oskar asked, feeling a rising panic.

“Only because Max very much did not want to remain there. Ordinarily he would be there for some time, but - I think perhaps you know his history in that place, Inspector? He feared being there, not knowing how he would be treated or if he would be treated. He begged me to bring him here. Once he had received an emergency examination and basic treatment, I agreed. He will certainly have better nursing care here, and I will come every day of course. Max and this family are very dear to me,” the doctor sighed.

“What exactly are his injuries, doctor?”

“He was badly beaten about the face and head. Kicked. Stomped on. He has concussion certainly, but I think no skull fracture; a small mercy. He has many deep bruises, and I think one or two broken ribs. His left arm is broken. His right hand..” Samuelson stopped.

“His right hand, Doctor?” Oskar prodded quietly.

“Whoever did this, they didn’t necessarily mean to kill him. They meant to cripple him and cause him the greatest possible pain,” Samuelson explained. “They attempted to smash the bones in his hand, to render it useless. But I hope - I think - that they will not be successful. The attack was stopped in time, and I am something of an expert in treatment of the bones. If great care is taken I believe he will retain good use of his hand.”

“If he lives,” Mendel Liebermann murmured sadly. “I do not think he wants to. He’s in very great pain, and he feels a terrible shame.”

“When I arrived, I heard him,” Oskar admitted.

“I was setting the bones in his hand then. He had refused anything for pain. But for now, I am the doctor and we will override his wishes. He must have rest, and relief from such pain, and he will.”

“He is afraid of becoming addicted to the drugs,” Mendel shook his head, but - “

“I know that he is. I’ll let him decide, in a week or two,” Samuelson acknowledged. “For now, I want him asleep most of the time. It’s best for his physical and his mental state. I believe he will survive this, but he must want to do so, that is the key. He needs all the love and understanding, and the support, of his family. I am told that includes you, Inspector?”

“Very much so,” Max’s father affirmed.

“Yes, Doctor,” Oskar nodded. “What can I do to help him?”

“For now, just be with him when you are able. Let him see and hear you. Listen to him, and comfort him in whatever way you can. If he doesn’t respond, still he will know you are there. Let him know he’s important to you. He needs that very much just now. In other words, give him a reason to keep fighting. Mendel,” Samuelson turned to Max’s father, “I have left the medicines with Rachel and Leah. You know you have only to call me, day or night, and I’ll come. He’ll sleep now for some hours. When he wakes, if you can get him to eat or drink anything, all the better, but don’t force him. Don’t force him to do anything at this point. Just love him.” The doctor rose slowly, stiff after so long at Max’s bedside both in the hospital and since he’d been brought home.

“God bless you, David,” Mendel acknowledged, taking his hand.

When he had gone, Herr Liebermann poured out two tumblers of whiskey and handed one to Oskar.

“It has been a long and terrible day and it will be a longer night, but at least Max is alive, and not in pain at the moment. My God, such a terrible world,” he shook his head, his voice breaking.

“I’m afraid it will only be getting worse, Herr Liebermann, for you and for me. I know it’s not the same, but I also feel increasing pressure. The nationalists and the racial purity groups would have those like me driven out as well. Austria for Austrians isn’t going to go away,” Oskar sighed. “And nothing will be done about what happened today, to Max and to the others. They will investigate but it will go nowhere because that is precisely where they want it to go. If I insist, it will be just one more black mark against me and they still will not arrest anyone. I’m sorry to tell you this, but it’s the truth. I will do what I can to find out who was responsible, but it would not be through official channels. But being here with Max will come first,” he vowed. “May I see him, please?”

Herr Liebermann winced. “Have another whiskey and we’ll go up,” he agreed. “He will look very bad to you. He _is_ very bad, very hurt. My God.” He shook his head again.

When Max’s father opened the door to his room, Leah, who had been sitting beside the bed watching, silently rose and left the room. Her father squeezed her hand as she passed him.

At first look, Oskar wondered how they could know Max even lived, he looked so like the corpses they studied in the police morgue. Both his eyes were blackened, one swollen half-shut. There were cuts and bruises everywhere on his face; a couple of the cuts had stitches. His lower lip was swollen and torn, and there was dried blood around his nose. What Oskar could see of his body was also bruised, and he had a glimpse of bandages wound tightly around Max’s ribs. His left arm was in a plaster cast, lying away from his body. His right hand was encased in a series of splints and bandages, protected within a great deal of cotton wool batting. Even under a heavy dose of morphine, there were lines of pain in his face.

As prepared as they had tried to make him, as much whiskey as he’d had to steady himself, Oskar had to fight a very strong urge to keep from vomiting at the sight, and the knowledge that they had tried to destroy Max if not take his life. He didn’t care that tears rolled down his face in front of Max’s father; the entire household wept for Max.

Oskar badly wanted to touch him, but could not and would not. There was almost nowhere on his body that wouldn’t hurt him to be touched, and he didn’t want to take the chance of waking him.. He want to give him comfort, but there was nothing he, or any of them, could do presently. He found himself hypnotized by the shallow rise and fall of Max’s chest and the effort, even unconsciously, not to breathe too deeply because of the pain it would bring. Oskar would gladly have sat there through the night, but he knew he had to contact the station, perhaps even get a dressing-down from von Bulow for having left the station without warning. He wanted nothing more than to look after Max, but he needed to keep his job for as long as he could - until they dismissed him or he punched von Bulow in the face, whichever might come first. He also knew that the Liebermanns were equally intent on looking after their son and brother. He motioned to Herr Liebermann and they stood in the hallway.

“I must return to the police station and give them some account of my absence today. I can’t bear to be away from him, but I must still work. You also work all day, and will be tired when you come home. The ladies cannot look after him all day and all night. If it’s all right with you, I can come when I am finished for the day and sleep here, with Max. You will have time with your family, and everyone can rest,” Oskar suggested.

“Everyone except you, Oskar,” Mendel smiled sadly, placing a hand on his arm. “Why don’t you plan to sleep here for the next few weeks. Bring your things with you. We’ll work out the details as the days go by. We will all watch over Max, and eat and sleep here with him, and see him live.”

Touched by his offer, Oskar nodded, and left. He found himself lucky in that von Bulow, a creature of military habit, had left the office at precisely five o’clock, so he would at least not need to have that confrontation today. As upset as he was, he knew that was a good thing. If the man had made any sneering comments about either the demonstrations or Max, Oskar would want to rip his throat out, and that would be the end of that.

He went home and gathered some clothes - a few shirts, underwear and his shaving things, and returned to the Liebermanns. When he got there, the maid took his bag and he was ushered into the dining room, where dinner had just finished. A hot meal was placed in front of him as well as a glass of wine. He would have said, if asked beforehand, that he wasn’t hungry and could not eat, but he did. The food was excellent, and warm in his stomach. However much Max chafed at the restrictions of family life, at a time like this being part of a family was truly a blessing. Oskar wasn’t alone either, since Mendel had accepted him as Max’s partner in all ways, his husband.

When he had sat for a while, Mendel took him upstairs to a bedroom that would be his while he stayed with them. His clothes had been put away. He was able to take off his suit coat and wash his face. The cold water refreshed him.

He entered Max’s room quietly, uncertain whether he would still be drugged asleep or not. Rachel leaned over the bed fussing, trying to get Max to eat or drink something, it wasn’t clear which. As soon as Max saw him, his attention was all on Oskar. His mother looked at Oskar rather sharply for a moment, then turned to leave them. Although he knew that Mendel accepted him, he did not know how the largely silent Rachel or the taciturn Leah felt about him and Max. He didn’t want them to feel jealous of Max’s feelings for him

“See if you can get him to take any nourishment at all,” she murmured as she left.

“ _Mein Engel,_ ” Oskar groaned softly, approaching the bed. “I want to touch you so badly.”

“And I want you to. Please.” Max’s voice was scarcely above a whisper, breathless from his shallow breathing. His eyes, surrounded by great dark bruises, were dull with pain, but they were locked on Oskar.

Oskar leaned over carefully and kissed the top of Max’s head, brushing his hair gently. Max moaned.

“More. Please. I can’t bear this without you,” he whimpered.

Oskar pressed his lips gently to Max’s forehead and his ear, nuzzling softly. Feather light, his fingertips brushed along Max’s collarbone. He pressed a kiss to the base of his throat before he straightened.

“No matter how much we want to, we can’t do more. You are alive and I am able to be here with you. We should be grateful for that. I’m not going to agree to do anything that will cause you any more pain.”

Max sighed, and nodded slightly. Oskar looked at the bedside table.

“Will you drink some tea? Water?” he asked.

“Thirsty,” Max whispered. Oskar held his head while he drank. He did it slowly, as if every movement, every gesture or blink, hurt - which of course it did.

“Will you try for three spoonfuls of this pudding? Only three,” Oskar ventured, figuring he had nothing to lose.

Max frowned and closed his eyes. Beads of sweat were noticeable on his face, which was very pale beneath the bruises.

“All right. Never mind,” Oskar soothed, carding his fingers through Max’s hair. “I think you need something for the pain. Let me get someone.” Max frowned again.

“Then I won’t see you. Hear you,” he fretted.

“But I’ll be right here anyway, all night and whenever you wake up. I will, I promise. I won’t go anywhere, Oskar soothed.

Max’s eyes flickered open. “Pudding,” he agreed, with a slight grimace. Surprised, Oskar fed him exactly three spoonfuls, slowly.

“Thank you. I know you’re trying,” Oskar told him. “Now I’ll get you some relief.” He rose and went into the hallway, asking the maid to call one of the family. It had worked, he realized. He hadn’t pushed Max, hadn’t made him feel guilty, and he did eat something, to please him. He only had to be careful how he managed it.

Leah came, bringing a bottle of morphia solution. She measured out the dose and put it in water. As much as he was hurting, Max half-looked as if he might refuse.

“Remember what I told you. I will be here, even when you’re sleeping. And it is doctor’s orders from your friend, who knows what he’s doing,” Oskar coaxed. Max finally nodded, and drank the dose. Leah gave Oskar a look which clearly said thank you. 

“Don’t fight your sleep, let it take you,” Oskar added. “I’ll be here, and if I am not I will be soon. You are surrounded by those who love you. Let us all help you.” He leaned over to kiss Max’s forehead. Max at first looked as if he would fight to stay awake with him, but gradually his eyelids began to droop and the pain receded from his face.

“ _Schlaf,_ _mein Engel,_ ” Oskar repeated.

“You should get some rest as well, Inspector.” Leah indicated the sofa, where a pillow and blanket waited.

“Thank you. When he is well asleep, perhaps.”

Leah handed him the bottle. “The doctor said four drops most of the time. Six drops if he’s very bad or to sleep until morning.” Oskar nodded his understanding, and she left.

Oskar watched Max sink into deeper unconsciousness. He gradually ceased his restless twitches and frowns, and his body and face relaxed. Yet in some ways Oskar could barely stand to look at him. He was injured so cruelly, it made Oskar physically sick. He needed to be strong for Max, but it was going to be difficult. This was just the beginning.

He gave in to exhaustion, both physical and emotional, and lay down on the sofa where he could see Max and hear his slightest stirring. He knew he would give in, he couldn’t stop it. He was still keeping his promise to Max, though.

***

Voices woke him. The drapes were opened to early daylight. Max’s father and mother were washing him. The sight of his bruised torso without the bandages was another shock. He was covered with more of the same as those on his face, deep and angry-looking. Helpless, unable to move or leverage himself because both arms were immobilized, Max could only endure. He cried out in pain and frustration until Oskar sat up and then he bit his injured lip in an attempt to stop.

“If you need to shout to fight the pain, then you shout. It’s all you have left right now. Just do it. It means you’re alive,” Oskar told him, “and fighting still.”

“Let me help,” he offered. Mendel nodded. His father supported Max to sit up, and Oskar re-did the bracing bandages. Oskar wanted to hug Max, however gently, but only allowed himself to do what he had the previous evening. Despite his pain, Max leaned forward to lay his head on Oskar’s shoulder.

“I must go to work, but I’ll be back to stay with you, just like last night. Rest, and try to be a good patient, hm?” Oskar kissed him on the forehead. Max whined softly, but let his father settle him back against the pillows.

***

Oskar’s day did not go well. What he didn’t get from von Bulow the day before, he got when he arrived. He had had at least part of a night’s sleep however, and Max was alive, so he was able to bite his cheek and accept his reprimand, as long as it meant he could continue to return to Max each evening.

He was able to make it to the Liebermanns in time to join them properly for dinner. He learned that Max had been sleeping most of the day. Doctor Samuelson had been to see him and was satisfied with his condition, but encouraged him to eat and drink more. He also wanted him to sit up in a chair for short periods after another two days of bed rest. It would speed his recovery to change position in this way, and exercise his muscles a little, even if it was painful.

After dinner Oskar went in to Max’s room to find him awake and uncomfortable, fussy and restless. A dinner tray was brought up shortly afterwards, and Oskar realized it was going to be left to him to see that Max ate.

“How was it today?” he asked, petting Max gently where he could.

“Mother and Leah, they fuss. They mean well, but they make me nervous. Papa just looks sad. They want me to eat but I’m not hungry, and with the morphine I’m either too sleepy to care about anything or it makes me sick so the thought of food is even worse,” Max groaned. “And when I’m awake everything hurts. Everything. Breathing, moving, just lying here. My arm aches. My fingers..hurt. So much,” he rasped. “And I’m so damned _useless._ Would it have been better for everyone if they had killed me, I wonder?”

“ _No,_ it would not. Don’t think such a thing!” Oskar growled, frowning at him. “You think it would be better to leave all those who love you in mourning, to have lost you? That is selfish. That’s not the Max I know,” he scolded.

“No. I’m not the Max anyone knows any more, I think.” His voice was very small, and he went silent. When Oskar looked at him, he was horrified to see that Max was crying.

“ _Mein Engel,_ I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that you are in such pain. If I could take it away from you, I would. I’m sorry you’re feeling alone,” Oskar groaned. “You are not alone. We are all here loving you, trying to help. I understand you don’t want to express your frustrations to your family, but you always can with me. You can tell me anything, you know that. I might not always agree, but I’ll do my best to understand and support you. I will be here, and so will your family. Let us love you, and help you. It’s all we want to do. Yes?” Oskar put a gentle finger under Max’s chin, using his handkerchief to carefully wipe away his tears.

“Kiss me,” Max breathed. After a moment’s hesitation, Oskar very carefully did, avoiding the split in Max’s lip as much as possible. To his surprise, Max opened to him, seeking a deeper connection, tasting him, moaning softly in relief. When at last Oskar drew away, Max was actually smiling.

“I need that. I need it every day. _You_ are what it means to me to be alive, my love. You. It’s a different love than my family,” he explained.

“I know it’s different.” It was Oskar’s turn to fight back tears. “I try to be worthy of you, but sometimes-“

“No. Never, ever doubt. I love you with all my heart and soul, Oskar Rheinhardt. I wouldn’t want to be in the world without you, truly.”

“You know it’s the same for me.”

After this exchange, Max relaxed. He still appeared very ill and in discomfort, so Oskar was reluctant to start coaxing him to eat. He knew it must seem like torture whoever was doing the urging, even him.

“Something we can try, _liebes,_ if we keep it to ourselves. When you are hurting but you don’t want to sleep, and more medicine makes you sick to your stomach, we’ll just do a little less, hm? If it works you won’t feel so bad and you might feel more like eating. And I suspect that the more you eat, the less sick you’ll be anyway.”

Max nodded wearily. “All right,” he agreed.

Oskar used three drops in very little water. After several minutes, he asked “How are you feeling now, is the pain better? Do you want to try eating something?”

“I think so, a little. I’m less..tense, I suppose. And no, I don’t really _want_ to eat, but I will..for you,” Max acknowledged.

Not pushing his luck too far, Oskar was able to get him to eat half of the plate before he protested and stopped. It was better than he’d hoped.

“Will you try something for me?” he asked after he’d put the food aside and settled Max more comfortably.

“What?” Max returned suspiciously.

“You and I - I know most of the time what you want and what you don’t want. I think it’s the same with your father. Your mother, and your sister, they’re trying, Max. They love you too. But they are your mother and your older sister, so they’ll behave like it. They won’t understand how you feel, but their love and their caring is genuine. Accept what they want to give you. It would help you too, even if you don’t believe it. Let yourself be a child again for a few minutes when they’re with you. Let go and be comforted. For me if not for them. It’s good to know you can take some comfort when I’m not here.”

Max stared at him silently for a moment. “It’s difficult,” he murmured. “All I want is comfort, like a little child - their little child who was. But I’m not that child any more and it’s hard enough having to remind them every day that I’m a man now, without this.”

“But not every moment. I think it would be good for you, and I think you would need less medication for pain,” Oskar replied.

“You do realize that when no one is here but mother and Leah, I have to endure them holding my prick while I urinate and dealing with the waste from my body. Not what I would wish on anyone, me or them.”

“No, I had not thought. I didn’t mean to make it sound easy. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll try” came with a sigh.

“You will please them.”

Oskar told him of the case he was working on after that, chatting but keeping an eye on Max’s condition. When he saw signs of real pain again, he quietly mixed more medicine.

“Time for sleep, I think,” he suggested.

“Maybe.” Max drank obediently, sinking back into the pillows.

***

The days began to slip one into another. One afternoon he came early and heard someone singing in Max’s room. When he opened the door he saw that it was Leah. Max lay asleep. Oskar smiled and motioned to her to go on, he would take his time changing and coming back. Another time, when he was late and afraid Max would be upset or cross, Rachel was reading to him. 

He had his good days and his bad ones, but Max mostly seemed calmer, less agitated. Still Oskar wondered sometimes if it was simply depression. He should perhaps have been more careful what he wished for. Anger and frustration wasn’t good for him, but neither was thinking too much about what had happened.

Gradually, Max’s face healed. Stitches were removed and cuts shrank and became less angry. His lip was whole again, and the bruises and his black eyes were slowly fading. The doctor had suggested warm compresses, which Rachel and Leah were happy to do. It soothed the bruises and gave him some relief without morphine, and the ladies felt they were doing something of genuine value for Max.

Max and Oskar became able to get closer physically. Oskar would sit up on the bed next to Max, his casted arm resting on Oskar’s leg. It was awkward, but it didn’t matter. In the evening when the household had retired they could kiss, and Max could lie in Oskar’s arms. His healing ribs were still painful, but the pain was worth the closeness he craved with Oskar.

Trying to be creative in his thinking, Oskar volunteered to wash Max’s hair; he had already been the one shaving him most of the time. He sat in a chair with his head tilted back while Oskar applied the soap. His strong fingers massaged Max’s scalp firmly, his temples, his forehead, and the back of his neck, kneading long-held knots out of stiff muscles. Max was soon groaning in delight, begging Oskar not to stop even after he’d rinsed the soap away.

“That was wonderful. Thank you,” he murmured, curled carefully against Oskar back in bed, held in his arms.

Oskar did what he could to find the mob agitators, even paying out bribe money on his own, but the circle had closed tight and there was no opening. He lost count of the times he had to put his hands in his pockets so as not to punch the speaker when they wondered why he wanted to prosecute anyone, as it was only Jews and therefore troublemakers.

One evening he returned to find that Max’s father had been attacked in the street and his shop windows broken. Mendel wasn’t seriously hurt, but it put the household on edge and greatly disturbed Max.

As he healed, and especially after his father was hurt, Max raged in frustration and worry. He also wondered what he would do, what his life would be like when he was well.

“I can’t work at the hospital, or get referrals from them. It’s no longer safe to have a consulting room - not just for me but for the patients. If I can’t do what I’m trained to do, what purpose is there for me? What will I do, Oskar?” he fumed. “I don’t even know if I’ll ever be able to hold a pen again.” There was fear in his voice at the last worry. It was another week before the cast would be removed from his left arm, and it would be two weeks after that before Doctor Samuelson would release the splints from his right hand. No one knew what the outcome would be.

“Help me, as you have been doing,” Oskar reminded him.

“You think they’ll let that continue? How long before they say ‘We don’t want Jews involved with the police?’ How long before they’d dismiss you then?”

Oskar snorted.

“I’m hanging by a thread now. It’s inevitable, whether you help me or not. Each day I wonder, is this the day they tell me, or the day I lay von Bulow out cold and _then_ they tell me?” He made a joke of it to cheer Max, but Oskar had begun to feel his own fear. What would _he_ do without his job? Vienna was an increasingly unfriendly, as well as dangerous, place.

“My mother is urging my father to return to England. We have family and friends there, and the business could begin again. I could practice freely. The anti-Jewish bias exists in England of course, but they’re far more civilized about it and there’s no rioting in the streets. Papa doesn’t want to do it, but after this I think they should. There’s my mother, Leah and Daniel to think about.”

“So you are all right with going back to England?” Oskar asked quietly.

“In theory. But I would never leave without you, you must know that.”

“I have lived here most of my life. If I went to England, what would I do? I would not let your family, or even you _liebes,_ support me. I don’t think the British police would be interested in having a German colleague, and I certainly will have no recommendation.”

“You might be of interest to the government Intelligence community, with your knowledge of Vienna.”

“Be a spy, a turncoat?”

“Our countries are not at war.”

“Not at this moment, no.”

“Has Austria treated you so well? How have your colleagues rewarded your years of dedication? Do you approve of what’s happening in the country now?”

“It’s not that simple, Max.”

“I know. But I won’t go without you, whatever happens here.”

“Emotional blackmail?”

“No. Only the simple truth.”

They avoided the subject after that.

***

The cast came off, and Max could feed and groom himself after a fashion and relieve himself on his own, one function for which he was very grateful. He rarely took anything for pain any more; Oskar was his medication. Late into the night, and also on the Sabbath when the family were at the synagogue, Oskar indulged Max with whatever he wanted.

At first, Max simply wanted to be touched and caressed, to feel Oskar’s hands and mouth on his body; he was starved for it and so was Oskar. The need wasn’t sexual, it was comfort for all the weeks it couldn’t be given or received. It was the love they felt for each other but had no way to express for so long.

It was still a novelty for Max to be able to lie on his stomach. One Friday evening after the family had gone, Oskar produced a small bottle of sweet almond oil and gave him a massage. He was content to hear Max’s deep sighs and groans of pleasure, and feel taut muscles relax under his hands. When he was finished, Max crawled into his arms and slept like a baby.

Max in his arms once again was something Oskar was well aware he could never be without, no matter what the cost. He would follow him to the ends of the earth and despite his prideful words, would accept almost any situation. He just wasn’t ready to admit that to Max. He didn’t really know either just how welcome he would be with the Liebermanns. Here in Vienna was one thing. Starting a new life in a new country would be quite different.

***

Everyone was tense the evening that Doctor Samuelson came to take all the splints and wrapping off Max’s right hand. He’d requested a bowl of hot water, though not so hot as to scald. He also insisted that Max have some morphine before he began. He undid each finger carefully, one and a time, freeing them from their little cages. Max frowned deeply, but with concentration rather than pain. He grimaced when Samuelson placed his hand into the water. The aim was for the heat to penetrate tissues and ligaments and ease the stiffness in joints which had been immobile for two months.

After several minutes, he nodded to Max. “Show me. Wiggle your fingers. Make a fist.”

The effort was clearly painful, and intense. Making a fist was difficult and only partially successful. It was going to take work and therapy. Still, the hand would be functional. Whether it would be as it was before, it was too soon to tell.

Max did work at it, but he found that coming back from such an injury, where one had to go through almost as much pain as when the injury was fresh, was daunting. There were days he didn’t want to face the pain and effort. He noticed that Oskar was often home in the afternoons to do his therapy with him, but didn’t think about it too much, assuming that he was just managing to get away early.

One particularly frustrating Friday evening when they were alone in the house, Oskar suggested Max sit at the piano. He knew how much Max loved music, and that he must have missed playing a great deal, though he’d never said anything - had never complained very much really, considering what he’d been through.

Oskar thought he did remarkably well, managing to play a fairly complicated piece or two, but was dismayed that Max, instead of being pleased, was only frustrated. Being the perfectionist he was, knowing how well he’d played before, his halting, relatively clumsy efforts only annoyed him. One more depressing realization in a long line of them recently. Oskar’s attempt to lighten his mood had failed badly.

Max roamed the house restlessly, looking sad and far away, saying little. Oskar found it frightening when he wasn’t able to reach him, which had been happening more often the past month or so, after his father had been attacked. He knew that dark thoughts had taken over Max’s mind, but didn’t know what to do to lessen them. Max wanted to be held more than ever, but it didn’t seem to help. He did have one thought, however.

“Max. Come back upstairs with me.” He tugged on Max’s sleeve. Biddable now, whatever storm within him seeming to finally pass at the sound of Oskar’s voice, he followed Oskar back to his room - the room that had been witness to so much pain and suffering.

Oskar sat him on the bed and sat beside him.

“ _Mein Liebes,_ I think I know what you need. Medicine from Doctor Rheinhardt.” He kissed Max on the lips, gently and then more firmly, waiting to judge his response. He felt a shudder go through Max, and he returned the kiss with a sweet, sad yearning.

“It’s all right, _Engel._ Everything will be all right,” Oskar soothed, calmly removing Max’s clothes and most but not all of his own. This wasn’t going to be about him.

He made love to a somewhat passive but very willing and appreciative Max, who absorbed every touch, every kiss, as food and drink for his soul. Max needed to feel that he had worth just as he was, imperfect as he was - as he might always be now. Oskar fondled Max’s beloved _Schwanz,_ milking it as he kissed his mouth, his hair, his belly. Max groaned in pleasure and relief - not a purely animal relief, but relief that he could feel the pleasure at all, that he needed Oskar not to simply bring him to ejaculation, but to love him still, as he always had.

Oskar’s mouth closed over him and Max whimpered, his breath coming fast, still shallow in reflex for his slightly tender ribs and long-restricted breathing. His fingers brushed Oskar’s close-cropped hair, caressing his skull.

“Ohh. Yesss,” he breathed. “My love.”

Oskar’s mouth and hands encouraged the tension in him, slowly bringing it nearer the surface, coaxing steadily. Oskar spread the sweet fluid from his weeping _Schwanz_ , taking some on his tongue. It had been so long. Forever. He felt the first jerking pulsations roil up under his hand and sucked harder, suddenly needing to hear Max’s groans and cries, needing to know he was Max’s pleasure. There was a low, keening wail and then he was drinking of the _Wichse_ which spilled onto his hand.

Max reached for him blindly, whimpering until he felt Oskar’s arms around him. Gradually the tension left him and he relaxed against Oskar, holding tightly to him, heedless of any discomfort.

“It’s all right. It will be all right tomorrow too,” Oskar whispered against his shoulder, willing himself to believe as much as Max.

***

There were other steps as well. Max showed no desire to leave the house, to enjoy Viennese life again. He sought no museums or coffee houses. Oskar had to bribe him to go out in a closed carriage at first, and he was very uncomfortable in an open one. He improved with time, but he would perhaps be uneasy in crowds or in public places for a long time to come, and how could anyone blame him?

For all that it had begun as Oskar staying with the Liebermanns only temporarily while Max’s condition was very serious, he never really went back to his own home to live. No one suggested it or indicated it was time for him to leave. The household had seemed to accept him as one of them, yet he still wondered how far that would hold true as time went on. He found out the day Mendel came home and announced he had found a buyer for the shop, and for their home. They would be returning to England within the month.

It was after dinner, when they were all at table. Max panicked quietly, his eyes going immediately to Oskar, who was equally discomfited. He had known this time might come, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for it.

A house had already been found for them by friends. It wouldn’t be as grand as their current home, but it would be sufficient, in a respectable middle-class area of London. They would have funds to open a draper’s shop. It wouldn’t be as grand as the Vienna shop, but that would come in time. Economies would need to be made of course, but the family would continue to prosper.

Everyone spoke of what they would do to contribute to their new life, but Max said nothing, only holding Oskar’s hand under the table. When it had gone a bit quiet, he simply said “If Oskar chooses to stay, then I’m staying. You must know that.”

Mendel looked around him, at everyone. He cleared his throat.

“I have given this matter considerable thought. “You have truly become a part of this family, Oskar. We hope that you will come with us, but I understand if you don’t wish to leave your professional position here. You are very welcome in our home. We don’t wish to have Max’s _Man_ stay behind, and we would miss your company and your contribution to our family. You are a man of honour.”

Oskar was of course quite touched at the invitation and the words, but he supposed they came from Mendel only and didn’t reflect the feelings of the entire household. His reluctance to speak remained.

“Oskar - please consider coming with us. We all know that Max is still alive because of your care, and your love for him - and we also know of your consideration for us.” Leah smiled at him - a genuine smile.

“We see what you have done, not only for Max but for us as a family. You have become a part of us. We trust you, and we care about you.” Rachel Liebermann acknowledged. “We want you to be a part of our family, as you have been these past months. You are truly welcome, Oskar.”

This. This was what he’d needed. A great weight fell from his shoulders.

“To hell with the damned Vienna police. Oskar, please,” Max begged.

“I will have no job, no profession. At my age… It will be difficult. I do not wish to be a burden, to live off others, however dear they have become to me.”

“Oskar, dammit,” Max groaned.

Oskar smiled at him.

“I lost my job two weeks ago,” he admitted.

“You never said a word -“

“No, I didn’t. I wasn’t sure what to do. Now, I believe I am.” He looked at the family. “Thank you.”

***

Later, when they were alone, Max fussed a bit.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you had enough to worry about with your hand. You had a lot on your mind. You have not been in a good place, _Engel._ You still are not yourself,” Oskar told him honestly.

“I don’t believe I’ll ever be quite the person I was before I was attacked. Our experiences do change us. It would be stranger if I carried on exactly as before, wouldn’t it? But with time, and you with me, perhaps I will come close to the old Max. If you are with me, I will try anything,” Max smiled, pushing Oskar playfully down on the bed.

“Is that a promise?” Oskar grinned.

“Yes,” Max breathed, untying Oskar’s tie. “A promise. But I need one in return. Don’t.ever.leave.me,” he whimpered, nuzzling Oskar’s neck, kissing the flesh of his throat and chest as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“Never,” Oskar agreed. At last, he knew there was no reason not to do what he’d wanted from the beginning - be with Max, stay with him, no matter what. He trusted now that he was truly wanted. He’d been surprised that it mattered to him, but of course it mattered very much to Max. It was a good feeling, being loved not only by Max but by his family too. He’d never had such a thing when young, and what he did have had been ripped from him by Fate. Perhaps this was Fate too. In any case, it was real.

When Max took hold of him, he spared a moment to wonder what life would be like in London. When Max’s mouth engulfed him, he stopped thinking at all.

**Author's Note:**

> The few German words are hopefully obvious in their context. Liebe is the German word for love. Engel=Angel. The others are pretty obvious ;-). Max’s Man=Max’s husband in Yiddish.


End file.
